


Fish Bastard

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, M/M, Rough Sex, Scratching, abrasions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants you on your knees, and you don't speak until he says you may. It's why you like him so much, besides the fact that he's lower on the spectrum than you. He makes you hate yourself, and sometimes you want that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish Bastard

He's standing over you with that fucking grin on his arrogant, painted face, his hands behind his back. You're kneeling not because he told you to but because you know that's what's expected. You'd come to him, you know how these things go. He wants you on your knees, and you don't speak until he says you may. It's why you like him so much, besides the fact that he's lower on the spectrum than you. He makes you hate yourself, and sometimes you want that.

That's probably not a good thing.

His grin twitches into a smirk and he moves to where his crotch is an inch from your face. "Make yourself useful, sea trash."

You flinch at the name, but lean forward that little bit, your hands braced on your thighs, and pull his weird tights off. You're just glad he's not wearing that ridiculous codpiece.Once you can, you flick your tongue over his bulgeslit, keeping your eyes trained on his face as you do. He brushes his fingers through your hair, then grips it and shoves your face against him harder. You take care to keep your teeth from nicking him, instead tilting your head down a little to lap at his nook. His head falls back and he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth, then growls a moan, gripping your hair to where it stings.

"Just like that, motherfucker, keep that up." He snarls, lifting one foot and grinding the toe of his shoe into your crotch.

You shouldn't moan, but you do, and he just chuckles, this breathy sound, and lets his head roll to one side. His hands wrap around your horns and keeps your face all pressed into him, even as his bulge pushes out. You turn your head a little to mouth at the side of his bulge, ignoring the way you can feel his indigo painting your cheek and dripping onto your shirt. After a minute or two of him holding your mouth there and watching you with that look of complete control, he releases your horns and allows you to start sucking his bulge properly.

Your eyes flick up to him when his hands stop fucking your hair up and you see that he's removing his shirt. You'd get undressed, but you're not sure if that's even anything he's in the mood for. He presses hard at your bulge with his toe and pulls your mouth off his bulge with a pop, and you catch your breath for a few moments, your mouth dripping indigo.

"Freedom to speak, fish bastard." He mumbles, kicking you hard in the chest and laughing when you fall over.

You don't land hard-for all the pain he does cause you, he never gives you anything you don't want- and you lick your lips before speaking. "Fuck me."

His grin turns nasty again. "Was that an  _order,_ wader?" He's over you in an instant, gripping your hair but not pulling.

"Please." You gasp, and he yanks your hair a little. "Please fuck me."

He seems appeased by that, releasing your hair and nodding to himself as he walks away. You scramble out of your clothes, not even caring that your horn catches on your shirt's neckline and tears it, and you're caught completely off-guard when he kicks you back to the floor. You sputter for breath a moment, and hiss when his claws drag over your skin, nearly enough to cut through completely. By the time you fight out of your shirt, he's licking his claws. You stand and remove your pants, kicking them off and not bothering with your shoes because you'll probably have to hoof it back to your place in a hurry when you're done, anyway.

You let him back you against the sofa, because you're more comfortable there than on the floor, and when he kisses you you respond earnestly, whining and arching away from the claws that find their way into your back. He digs them in more as he pushes his bulge into your nook, letting them drag over and through your skin without even caring that he's staining the upholstery with two shades of violet. When he's fully in you, he pauses, flexing his claws and letting your body get used to the intrusion his bulge causes.

His hands move, almost gently, from your back and over your chest. If anyone were to just glance in, they may believe that you and he were in the passionate throes of a loving affair. If they were to watch, though, they would see the gashes he's leaving here and there with just a twitch of his claws. Your breath hitches with each wound, your entire body tensing for just a second, which you guess is part of why he does it. His fingers slip up around your throat, and you breathe a shaky moan as he starts to fuck you.

He watches you, his eyes too intense for your taste, and rubs his thumb over the skin of your throat while you keen. Your skin feels like it's on fire, like you're going to melt under him, and when he presses his thumb just at the base of your throat and your blood runs cold-colder, at least- it's ecstasy, it makes you writhe and arch and make strangled noises, which he answers with these pleased sort of grunts.

Just when you vision starts to fade, you feel light-headed and dizzy and your fingers tingle, you just touch the back of his hand. That wonderful pressure is gone, and you keen and shudder moans between hard gasps for air. He catches you in another rough kiss and you come, sobbing his name and wrapping your arms tight around him.

He slows his movements, stroking your hair. If you were to be completely honest, and assuming anyone would ask or care, you've wanted to take him into a quadrant. You're not sure which, because right when you think that he could only work in a caliginous quad, he soothes you like he is now and your mind goes fuzzy. Or that might be the lack of air and the orgasm. Either way, you want him more than you're happy admitting. You speak when his teeth pull up a messy violet mark on your collar.

"Don't stop." You're already sore, why stop now?

He laughs a little cruelly and lifts your thighs, letting his claws sink into them as he does, and starts that horrible wonderful rhythm that leaves you beyond breathless, leaves you choking on each chirp or groan because he's there, slamming into you again, fucking you so hard you feel like he's trying to push into you more and more or something.

Whining at the shift, you let him move you to your side, your own hand falling to your bulge as he holds one of your legs over his shoulder and the other between his thighs. You can feel his nook dripping and it makes you want to pull him in closer, let your bulge slip into him and watch whatever faces he makes when he's on the receiving end. He sort of grinds down against your leg as he moves, and you watch him bite his bottom lip as he gets close, your hand moving faster on your bulge until he slaps it away.

Before you can complain, though, he's jacking you off, and you just grip his hips, pulling him in closer to yourself. After a second of just watching him-he has a pretty face, really. You want to see it covered in blood. You want to see him come so hard he cries. You want to see him smile when he's not angry. You want to own him.

Your hand moves from his hip and over his ass, then to his nook, and you move your leg so you can sit up and kiss him again, rubbing the lips of his nook hard and clenching your nook on him as well as you can. He makes this kind of honking noise when he comes, filling you with indigo and shuddering, his hand faltering at your bulge until you come.

You focus on breathing for a while, then speak to him. You need to say something.

"I want you. In a quadrant."

He laughs, grinds against you and lets his bulge writhe inside you, and you shudder, keen again. "No you don't. Motherfucker's all addled in his pan from gettin his land-gills fucked up." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Makara. What do you have to lose?" You ask, shoving at him until he pulls his deflating bulge out of you. "It ain't gonna hurt, what'll you lose from it?"

He snorts, grabs your shirt to wipe himself down. "My dignity. My lunch. This is a sweet motherfuckin thing we got if you ask me, you askin for more is just gonna make you greedy. Greedier."

You growl, sit up and ignore the shift of material in you. "Try it. I dare you." You sound like a wriggler, but you're desperate.

He watches you in that way he does sometimes, like you've just appeared and he's only just woken up at once, and you watch right back. You're covered in blood and cum and your nook is probably just gaping but you couldn't care less, you won't drop it unless you get an answer(and even then, you've never known when to stop kicking a dead hoofbeast). It feels like an entire unlife before he responds, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Alright, fishface. We'll fuckin try that. Keep your pan clear though, motherfucker ain't gonna go and get red for you." He pauses, looks more severe than you've ever seen him. "Remember that."

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna just be one of my weird ships with my weird kinks and now I'm thinking I might make this a 'thing'. There is no hope for me.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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